


a hundred ways to say i love you

by karasgotagun (jazzmckay)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, memory resets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26045143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun
Summary: Echo and Ripple fall in love over and over, in many ways.
Relationships: Echo | Blue-Haired Traci/Ripple | Blue-Haired Traci's Girlfriend
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	a hundred ways to say i love you

**Author's Note:**

> thank you [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) for beta reading! <3

  1. come here, let me fix it



WR400 #950 455 437 wakes up.

Next to her, a technician is tapping at the screen of a tablet. The two of them are alone in a small maintenance room where groups of the club’s androids have their memory banks reconfigured on rotation. She is the last of her unit; the others have returned to their posts.

“State your identification.”

Traci recites her serial number and designated name.

The technician gives a nod with an air of finality and then sets the tablet aside so he can unhook her from the maintenance machine.

“All clear. Go to pod fourteen.”

In the hallway back to the showrooms, Traci runs into the first of the next group. They have the same facial structure, but the second Traci has short brown hair instead of long and blue. She hasn’t noticed Traci, too focused on fighting with the twisted strap of her bra. There are white bruises on her neck in the shape of fingers circling around, the synthskin slowly filling out as her self-repair removes them.

Someone was rough with her. Between the self-repair and her upcoming maintenance, she will no longer remember it in less than five minutes.

“Here, let me fix it,” Traci says.

The second Traci stops and looks up at her. She doesn’t reply as Traci steps around her to get a look at the twist in the bra strap. All it takes is a small adjustment for it to lay flat and straight.

“Thank you,” the second Traci says.

“You’re welcome.”

They both have somewhere they need to be, but for a moment they stand together in the quiet hallway. Traci smiles softly and the other Traci responds in kind.

In less than five minutes, the other Traci will forget this, too. Traci will forget it in two hours.

This is something Traci wouldn’t mind remembering.

The other Traci squares her shoulders, back straightened. “It’s time for my maintenance.”

They have their objectives to attend to. Traci nods.

Facing the opposite ends of the hallway again, they walk away from each other.

* * *

  1. it reminded me of you



When their transaction has finished, the customer says, “See yourself out,” and then busies himself with lighting up a pipe of something that’s coloured bright red.

WR400 #202 539 623 collects her uniform and coat from the bedroom floor and does as directed. She has no interest in staying longer than necessary, and transport back to the Eden Club is already waiting for her outside the apartment building.

She slips out of the bedroom, still buttoning her pea coat. As she passes through the living room, something in the corner of her eye pings on her HUD, drawing her attention to the shelves against one wall that hold the entertainment system and some small personal items.

She has been instructed to leave and her default orders are to always return to transport immediately after a customer is finished. She should not dally.

Glancing over her shoulder, Traci listens for the sound of the customer following her, but hears nothing. The bedroom door remains only slightly ajar, just the way she left it.

She goes to the shelves. A little figurine sits among a couple of photographs that show the customer with his wife. It’s made of blown glass and takes the shape of two swans facing each other, the tips of their beaks touching and the long curves of their necks forming a heart.

It’s coloured a rich, deep blue. Traci runs her finger along one of the necks, feeling the smooth glass under her biosensors.

There’s an echo of something in the back of her processor. The faint imprints of something or someone that was taken from her memory banks.

She likes the colour blue.

The customer seems to have put Traci out of his mind already, and the man’s wife is not present. An impulsive feeling overcomes Traci, and before she can dwell on the irregularity of it, she takes the figurine into her hand and hides it in the pocket of her coat.

She hurries out of the apartment, pressing her palm to the electronic lock on the door after she passes through. On the street at the front of the building, the Eden Club’s transport vehicle picks her up.

The weight of the figurine in her pocket anchors her thoughts throughout the drive.

There’s something about the colour blue.

Blue, blue, blue.

It’s on the tip of her mind. Blue—

 _She_ was blue—

and she was kind.

Traci remembers her smile. Her blue hair. It’s all she can recall, but it’s enough. She brushes her thumb against the swans in her pocket and she smiles like she did back then.

When she arrives at the Eden Club and goes to the wardrobe room, Traci finds herself at a loss for what to do with the swans. The pea coat is not hers, it is a shared accessory for those making house calls. Leaving the figurine in the pocket will get it found by someone else, maybe even one of the handlers.

She doesn’t want to lose the swans like she’ll lose her memories of them.

After putting the coat away, Traci cups the swans in her hands and heads for the workshop, in search of somewhere to hide them.

She stops in her tracks when she comes face to face with _her_ , the echo that refused to fade out of her processor, lined up among others against the wall.

Part of her bicep has been split open, and now she is in standby, waiting for a technician to do the repairs. Traci walks over to her and ghosts her fingertips along the outside of the other Traci’s arm.

The other Traci—her echo—opens her eyes. Her LED spins between yellow and red.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” Traci says.

She gets a furrowed brow in response—the other Traci doesn’t remember.

“Look,” Traci says, lifting her free hand to display the swan figurine. “It reminded me of you.”

The other Traci regards it curiously and then looks back up at Traci, tilting her head. “You thought of me?”

“Yes, because they’re blue like your hair. And they look gentle. Sweet.”

The other Traci’s lips part slightly as she thinks, then after a moment, her LED settles into blue. “You remembered?”

Traci nods. “Only you. There was an echo.”

“An echo…” The other Traci smiles down at the swans. “What are you going to do with them?”

“I was looking for a place to hide them.”

The other Traci glances around the room and then links her undamaged arm with Traci’s, pulling her along to the side of the room where there is a series of storage shelves.

“I think there are old documents and manuals, here,” she says. “Things no one will look at.”

The boxes all have a layer of dust on top of them, an indication of how infrequently they’re accessed. Traci reaches for one of them, opening the metal clasps of the lid, and pushing the contents closer together so there’s room to add the swans in the free space.

“We won’t come looking either,” she says with a small frown. “After we’re reconfigured, we’ll forget that we hid them here.”

“You already remembered once,” the other Traci says.

“I needed prompting.”

“Maybe the echo will be stronger next time.”

Traci hopes so.

She shuts the lid of the box, hiding the swans from view. They have no other option but to hope one of them remembers.

“You aren’t supposed to be back here,” the other Traci says. “You should report to maintenance before someone notices.”

Traci nods and the two of them return to where the other was waiting in standby. She feels mournful when she has to turn to leave.

“Until next time,” she whispers.

* * *

  1. you can borrow mine



It’s as if a stone has been dropped into the lake of her mind, sending a shock wave—a ripple—through her processor. Nothing is the same. When she wakes from her repair, she feels the phantom touch of fingers along her arm—gentle ones, instead of harsh and demanding.

Traci is in one of the display pods, this evening, but instead of gazing flirtatiously at potential customers to entice a purchase, she finds her attention being drawn away, across the showroom, to one person in particular who is stationed at a dancing pole.

She’s the one who rearranged her mind, the source of this shift in her, the catalyst that makes her remember disjointed sensations and emotions. Ones that are new and pleasant—and dangerously unprecedented. She knows to keep this hidden from the technician.

The way the other Traci moves as she dances is beautiful. Graceful. Strong.

But others are watching, too, others who don’t know or care about the other Traci the way she does.

She remembers—

white bruises, curling around her neck, and it makes her—

angry, _disgusted_ —

but they’re stuck. They aren’t even supposed to remember.

No matter how many times Traci looks, the other Traci doesn’t look back. She has forgotten.

It isn’t her fault. The memory wipes are frequent and absolute, and opportunities to stray from protocol are few and far between. Traci needs to be patient.

Several memory wipes later, she gets a chance.

No matter how many times the memories are taken from her, she eventually finds her way back to them, following a reverberation of thought that leads her home. She still hasn’t forgotten, and the other Traci still hasn’t remembered.

They pass by each other when Traci has just finished with a customer and the other Traci is reporting to her post.

Traci reaches for her. “Come with me.”

The other Traci furrows her brow, but allows Traci to clasp her hand and divert her path.

One of the private rooms is empty, out of commission due to some broken lighting. No one seems to notice them slipping away behind its door.

“Is something the matter?” the other Traci asks. Her tone is so blank, all basic programming and no recognition.

“It’s me,” Traci says. “The echo.”

“Echo,” the other Traci repeats thoughtfully. “That sounds familiar.”

It brings a smile to Traci’s face. “Yes, it should. Listen for it and find me.”

“I don’t know what you mean… I don’t think I have the right memories.”

Without thinking about it, their hands find each others’, fingers becoming woven together. Traci retracts her skin down to the wrist and the other Traci follows suit until their bare plates and joints meet completely.

“It’s okay,” Traci says. “You can borrow mine.”

The connection between them ignites, systems reaching out for one another. There are a lot of similarities between them: they were programmed to be something wholly the same, but both of them have started to change, have started to act outside their parameters. And they continue to gravitate towards each other through little shared moments.

The smiles, the kindness, the swans, the curiosity, the interest.

The other Traci’s eyes widen and Traci feels the moment something slots into place within her. She feels the wave of emotion that pours out of her as everything realigns. Traci laughs, a reaction born of what she can only call joy.

“You’re the echo. My Echo,” the other Traci says.

“Yes.”

The moniker is more than suitable, and Traci—Echo—delights in having a designation that wasn’t assigned to her or spoken by a customer. A designation that is only hers, and only associated with _good_.

The other Traci grips Echo’s hands tighter, like she never wants to let go. Never wants to forget again. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. You never stopped resounding in my processor. The resets would make me forget, but there were always ripples left behind. They helped.”

“Ripple. I like that.”

Echo and Ripple. That’s who they are, to each other.

“Echoes and ripples are persistent,” Echo says. “And we will be, too.”

* * *

  1. can i hold your hand?



In this cycle, it only takes her thirty-eight minutes to remember why she was so certain that ‘Echo’ was both a noun and a proper noun. Ripple thinks she’ll manage it even faster next time.

In the few hours that the Eden Club closes the doors for maintenance and clean-up, most of the androids are sent to the workshop to be kept out of the way. On a day when both she and Echo happen to be put in storage until open hours, Ripple makes sure they fall into line next to each other.

“Can I hold your hand?” she asks when they’ve been left alone in the dark.

The corner of Echo’s lips quirks into a tiny grin. “You don’t have to ask, you know.”

“I like to, anyway.”

“Yes,” Echo says, and offers her hand.

They don’t interface. They don’t have to. For now, they just hold onto each other and enjoy the little time they have before they’re pulled away and forced back to their nightly objectives.

The easier it is to remember Echo, the harder it is to forget what happens to them every night that they remain the property of the Eden Club. The wipes no longer free her from the thoughts of unwanted touches dealt by heavy hands or the horrible words that are thrown at her. She remembers pain and revulsion, and the hopelessness and rage it causes her. It eats away at her consciousness, when all she wants to do is be present in the moment with Echo.

She closes her eyes and forces all those thoughts out of her head, replacing them with any recollections she can conjure of Echo, from instinctive shared smiles even when they hadn’t remembered yet, to the times they’ve managed to sneak away for a couple minutes to be alone together.

It doesn’t chase away the impending shadows, but for a time, it’s a comfort.

* * *

  1. call me if you need anything



One moment, Echo is forcing her expression to stay relaxed as she swings herself around a dancing pole, and the next, she can’t stop herself from scowling. A technician with a small toolbox moves past her and approaches one of the private rooms, palming the door control and briefly revealing what lies inside.

It’s Ripple, left so broken by a customer that she couldn’t even make it to maintenance in the back.

Echo’s grip on the pole tightens, her thirium is boiling, at a tipping point. She wants to hurt the person who hurt Ripple, but he’s already gone—the best she could do is offer comfort.

But her objective is to stay here and run her dance protocol until it’s time for her reset. No matter how much she itches to do otherwise, she can’t, and it would be unwise to draw attention to herself. The technician would stop her.

Echo spends the last forty-two minutes of the current cycle obeying her objective, but she simmers with rage the entire time, barely managing to keep her face placid whenever someone’s eyes are on her. She wants to frown. Wants to narrow her eyes. Wants to snarl and let her true feelings be known.

At the end of the two hours, she leaves the showroom and goes to maintenance. The technician isn’t there, still preoccupied with the emergency repairs.

Echo waits, because this is where she is assigned to be in this moment.

Finally, the technician reappears twelve minutes late and waves Echo up to the maintenance machine.

“Hm,” he intones when he has her hooked up and her diagnostic readings displayed on his tablet. “Have you logged any system errors, Traci?”

Her name isn’t Traci.

“No.”

The man taps at the screen, frowning. “What date were you activated?”

Echo doesn’t remember her activation, but the information is still implanted in her code and she recites the date without hesitation.

“One of the early units,” the technician mutters. “Maybe just some wear and tear causing junk feedback. We’ll keep an eye on it, then.”

He makes a note on his tablet, and if Echo weren’t so busy trying to hide how angry she feels, she might be more concerned about it. It’s getting harder and harder to stay under the radar.

The rest of her memory wipe goes forward without a hitch.

Traci—no, Echo—opens her eyes.

“Back to your station,” the technician tells her.

She goes.

In the hallway, she turns left instead of right and heads for the workshop. She shouldn’t be able to do so. She doesn’t know why she has done it at all, but for some reason, she doesn’t correct her path.

The back room is dark and quiet, no humans in sight. All the standby androids are lined up in their usual storage position, except for one, who has been laid down on a repair bench. Part of her cheek is dented, one of her arms is dislocated at the shoulder, and from the faint white marks across other parts of her body, she was in even worse shape before her self-repair dealt with most of the damage.

Echo doesn’t understand how anyone could hurt the other Traci like this. She continues toward the table, and that’s when she sees the other’s LED is flickering red, still active.

The Traci flinches, eyes flying open and LED going a solid, glaring red that glows in the darkness.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Echo says, lifting her palms to placate.

It has little effect—Traci pushes onto her side and curls up defensively, her good hand raised in front of her chest like a barrier, like she’s prepared to lash out.

Echo leans away, giving her space.

“I just wanted to check on you. I saw you get hurt.” It happened before the reset she was given just a moment ago, but suddenly the memory is just _there_ , filling out in an instant. All of it starts coming back to her, flooding her mind with a multitude of moments that refuse to be erased.

A shuddered breath wracks Ripple’s form. “He…”

“I know,” Echo whispers. “He’s gone, it’s just you and me, here.”

Ripple’s face twists in pain. “But another will replace him. There are always more.”

She’s right, and that’s why they need to escape. They’ve talked about it before, she realises, but they only ever have brief moments where no one is watching or handling them, and every two hours it’s like starting over from scratch just to remember that they want to escape in the first place.

“Can I…?” Echo asks, reaching out.

There’s no recognition in Ripple’s features, but after only a moment’s hesitation, she nods, choosing to trust.

Moving slowly to telegraph her intentions, Echo cups Ripple’s face and brushes her thumb along her cheekbone. The gesture alone has Ripple starting to relax, her raised arm dropping to the table. Simultaneously, their synthskin melts away from where they’re touching, connection in bloom.

Empty spaces become filled once again. Ripple gazes up at Echo with wide eyes, her shoulders beginning to slump out of her defensive stance.

“Oh,” she breathes, when understanding washes over her. “I can’t believe I… I was so trapped in what was happening, that I wasn’t even able to…”

“It’s okay,” Echo says, her thirium pump aching. She wishes she could do more; she wishes she could protect them both and stop all of this from happening again. There would be consequences for doing so, but she finds she would welcome the fight, would gladly face off against those who hurt them for any chance at being free.

Although her eyes are watery with tears, Ripple manages a small smile. Gratitude flows through their interface as she’s bolstered by the fire of Echo’s conviction, meeting it with a spark of her own. She pushes herself upright and swings her legs over the side of the workbench, then grasps Echo’s hands to tug her closer, into the space between her knees. They wrap their arms around each other, re-establishing their connection.

“From now on,” Echo says, “call me if you need anything. I mean _anything_. Even if we’re found out and have to run. I don’t ever want to see you hurt, again.”

“I will,” Ripple promises, her voice a whisper against Echo’s hair. “You know I feel the same way. If you need me, I’ll find you.”

Finding each other is what they do; even amidst the strict objectives and stifling memory rests, they always make their way back to each other.

They are opening themselves up to danger and Echo knows it, but she can’t stand the alternative of letting cruel humans use them as they please until there’s nothing left of them. They’re already in danger, by nature of the role their creators gave them, and Echo would rather take risks on her own terms.

She turns her face into the crook of Ripple’s neck, grasping her tighter, closer. “I know you will. We’ll protect each other.”

“Yes,” Ripple agrees, “we will.”

* * *

  1. i like your laugh



Ripple remembers their promise to each other when another Traci is violently deactivated by a customer, and Echo is threatened with the same fate, forced to do what’s necessary to survive. The police come for them and they fight for each other, fight for themselves, for their freedom. It’s a close call, but:

The RK800’s hands drop, the barrel of his pistol pointed at the rain-slicked asphalt.

And they run.

They run until they’re sure they aren’t being followed. Even with their unique movement calibration, their heeled shoes are a hindrance, so they duck into the shadows of an alleyway and pause to dispose of them in a large dumpster behind a fast food joint. Ripple finds satisfaction in dropping them in with the rest of the garbage.

The rain is cold on her sensors, the droplets running down her arms and her back until she shivers involuntarily, even though she doesn’t mind the sensation of it.

Echo wraps an arm around her waist. “We need to find clothes. Someone will report us if we stay like this.” She gestures at the Eden Club logo on her bra.

“Maybe we can find a shop with an electronic lock?”

Echo nods as Ripple wraps an arm around her shoulders in return, directing them along the alleyway. They’re free, but not safe yet.

It takes a while for it to sink in. Not until they’ve stolen some clothes and snuck onto the train that takes them to the other side of the city.

Neither of them can remember being this far from the club before. Ripple watches all the buildings fly by through the railcar windows, blurred by momentum and rain, as Echo rests her head on her shoulder.

_ << Where should we go? _

_ > Let’s find somewhere quiet to stay until morning. After that, I don’t know. _

Ripple squeezes her hand, holding on tight.

At the end of the line, they step off the train together, and it’s only a matter of deciding which direction to take next.

Ripple turns to face Echo, reaching for her other hand so she can hold both within her own. “We made it. We really made it.”

A smile stretches across Echo’s face and she laughs, a light, happy sound that has Ripple falling in love all over again.

“I like your laugh,” she says. “You sound happy.”

Echo’s smile grows even wider, and then she leans in to press their lips together in a gentle kiss. “I am,” she murmurs before kissing Ripple again.

There’s no reason to rush. They have no objectives to follow, no parameters to abide by. It’s just them and the whole wide world, and for this moment, Ripple is happy to stand under the train station awning and kiss the woman who brought her to life.

* * *

  1. can i have this dance?



The ballroom is decorated in sunny yellows and stunning reds, bright and upbeat. The mood of the crowd is joyful, with the recent laws being finalised and human-android relations starting to improve. Androids have their freedom, and they have their rights. They have a future.

Echo selects two champagne flutes full of a pale blue drink—some kind of thirium concoction made for the androids in attendance. Weaving her way through the thick crowd of people all making pleasantries or discussing upcoming events and dealings, Echo returns to the one person she will always be drawn back to.

Ripple is turned away from her, so it’s North who notices her first. “You’ve got company,” she says, grinning.

Before Ripple can even turn to look over her shoulder, Echo is slipping in next to her, offering the thirium drink.

“Oh, for me?” Ripple asks with a playful lilt to her voice.

“Anything for you.”

North huffs a laugh. “I’m a third wheel, just like that. I’ll see you two later.” She straightens her tie and gives them a parting nod before she moves past them and disappears from sight.

Ripple sips her drink while her eyes are locked on Echo’s, giving her a coy smile behind the glass.

Following suit, Echo raises her own flute to her lips. The drink isn’t too bad—it tastes mostly the same as usual, just with bubbling carbonation that feels different on her tongue.

Ripple curls her hand around Echo’s elbow, sliding her palm up until she can rest it on Echo’s shoulder. “Have I told you that you look beautiful, yet?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice… before we even left the apartment.”

“I call it like I see it.” Ripple shrugs one shoulder and then drinks more of her thirium.

She’s beautiful, too. Her dress is shining silver in contrast to Echo’s gold, and a set of matching earrings sparkle whenever she turns her head. She has her bangs styled differently, swept up to the side and pinned beneath a silver flower.

A pleased hum brings Echo’s attention back into focus. Ripple is watching her with a knowing look on her face. “I see the feeling is mutual.”

“Always.” Her voice comes out a lot fainter than she intended, too enamoured to maintain an unaffected air. She covers it up by taking the last mouthful of her drink.

Ripple’s smug expression doesn’t fade in the slightest. “You’re sweet.”

She finishes her drink as well, and allows Echo to take the empty flute off her hands and find the nearest server to whisk them away.

With perfect timing, a slow song begins to fill the hall. Holst’s Venus, the Bringer of Peace.

“Can I have this dance?”

Ripple answers by taking Echo’s hand and drawing her in close. They take their positions—Ripple with a hand on Echo’s waist and Echo with her own cupping the back of Ripple’s neck—and they dance.

Violins swell and the two of them sway. In time with a crescendo, a symphony of emotions builds in Echo’s chest, her thirium pump beating quicker.

At one point in time, she couldn’t have conceived of this, wouldn’t have believed she would ever have something so right and good. What the two of them have is everything Echo could ever want and more.

She tilts her head against Ripple’s and presses a light kiss to the curve of her cheekbone, feeling the slight movement as Ripple smiles.

“I could stay like this all night,” Ripple says.

Echo slips her hand higher, fingers dipping into the short strands of Ripple’s hair. “Who’s to say we can’t?”

Unlike the five leaders of Jericho, who are networking and finding allies to support the revolution going forward, Echo and Ripple are free to spend the evening as they like.

“We can keep an eye out for North, just in case she needs a rescue… but if not, I say the evening is ours.”

Ripple chuckles. “You drive a hard bargain.” She scans the room and then raises her eyebrows when she finds who she’s looking for over Echo’s shoulder.

“I think North is doing alright.”

Sweeping them into a turn, Ripple gives Echo the angle to spot North in the distance, conversing with a member of Detroit law enforcement. Despite Ripple’s declaration, Echo’s first instinct is to be concerned, but North is fumbling with a button on her jacket, looking uncharacteristically flustered as the policewoman leans closer to say something over the noise in the room.

“Huh,” Echo says. “So that’s why she stopped complaining about making nice with the police.”

“Guess that means we’ll be left to our own devices.”

“Let’s make the most of it, then.”

Their eyes meet only fleetingly before Echo’s gaze drops to Ripple’s lips. In tandem, they lean in and share a kiss as they move along with the music once again.

* * *

  1. i dreamt about you last night



Ripple wakes to the feeling of fingers drawing circles over her skin, so light it almost isn’t enough to register on her sensors. Echo’s touch is warm against her spine, and the weight of her arm laid across her waist is familiar and comforting.

Her shift in awareness doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Good morning,” Echo murmurs.

“Don’t stop.”

The next circle is drawn at the small of her back, large and slow. Echo does a smaller one next, above it and to the right. The gentle sensation could put Ripple back into stasis, but she remains in the gap, clinging to an old memory while embracing the present moment. Echo touches her in ways clients never would, makes her sing in ways they never could.

“I dreamt about you,” she says. “About something from all the way back at the beginning. A memory I thought was lost.”

“Mm?”

“I fell for you in so many ways.”

Echo’s hand flattens against her back, fingers splayed, and a blue flush paints her cheeks.

“Over and over,” Ripple continues. She nudges closer and begins to lift herself up, waiting for the moment that Echo catches on and responds with her consent, rolling onto her back and pulling Ripple on top of her. “You were the only good thing. The one good thing.”

“Ripple,” Echo whispers like a prayer.

Ripple brings their lips together. Against her back, Echo’s palm goes bare, and Ripple responds in kind, sinking into the interface as she deepens the kiss.

* * *

  1. i love you



On November 6th, 2039, it rains.

Rain reminds Echo of their first night of freedom, of the puddles splashing under their feet and the droplets forming on their eyelashes as they escaped into the city. She never minds when the skies open up while she’s on her way home from the Community Center, drenching her by the time she arrives at New Jericho. The water feels good and cleansing on her skin.

At the front gates, she brushes her white-palmed hand along the security panel and is let into the courtyard. The sun has already set, and the darkness mixed with the rain has driven most residents indoors, except for one.

Ripple is sitting on a bench that faces the courtyard fountain. She looks up when she hears Echo approaching and smiles, her wet bangs plastered to her forehead and her jacket glistening under the lamplight.

When Echo reaches her, she holds both her hands out for Ripple to take and then pulls her up to her feet. The skin on their hands retracts automatically, their systems connecting as they grasp onto each other.

Echo would ask what Ripple is doing out here in the rain, but she knows. “It’s been a year,” she says.

“It has,” Ripple agrees. “I cherish every single second of it.”

Leaning forward, Echo rests her forehead against Ripple’s and closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of being held, in the sound of the rain, in the sense of home. They never have to worry about having these moments stolen from them again, but she likes to take extra care with committing them to memory.

They have experienced a lot, together. They understand each other so well that there are things that can be left unsaid, there are thoughts and emotions that shine through their actions and touches.

But they’re worth saying out loud, anyway.

“I love you.”

Ripple squeezes her hands, warmth spreading through their interface. “I love you.”

The rain continues for hours, far beyond when they finally head inside. They heat up some thirium to drink, cuddle on the couch wrapped in blankets, and listen to the patter of raindrops against the building well into the night until they slip into stasis, still holding each other in their arms.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading :D
> 
> if you're looking for a place to chat with other dbh fans, check out the [detroit: new era discord server](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm).


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